True Capitalist Radio – Ghost's Christmas gift
by Trekuk
Summary: Christmas is drawing near and Ghost is in a foul mood as usual that time of the year. While he tries to calm down from another frustrating episode of True Capitalist Radio, a surprising encounter in a bar might just give him a small hint of Christmas spirit.


"RON PAUL! RON PAUL! RON PAUL! RON PAUL!"

"OK, that's enough – get him off Engineer. Get him off!" Ghost groaned into the mike, feeling exasperated from the constant barrage of trolls that kept calling nonstop. Deciding not end the show on such a low note, he signaled for the Engineer to let another caller through.

"Caller 111, you're on," Ghost announced, hoping despite his better knowledge that the next caller would have something worthwhile to say.

"Ghost, baby buns; all I want I want for Christmas is you baby!" a feminine, but not female, voice sang through the speakers. "Ghost, baby, I'm hard as a diamond for you" the Internet Buttstalker went on, his voice way too high pitched for a normal male.

"Aw, God dammit! Not this Internet Buttstalker again!" Ghost yelled into the mike, feeling anger flare up as he pictured the over-feminized, cumgurgling dickjockey who kept harassing him constantly. "Engineer! Get him off!"

Once the Internet Buttstalker was disconnected, Ghost leaned back in his chair, took a sip of his drink and allowed himself a few seconds to really appreciate the taste like the connoisseur he was. "Damn! That is what I'm talking about!"

"OK, one more call! I'm not letting that fruitbowl be the last caller," Ghost stated, hellbent on ending the show on a more positive note.

"213, you are on the horn!" he announced, taking another large gulp of scotch.

"Ghost, baby!" a familiar voice greeted him. In the background a kid was crying.

"Oh no, it's you!" Ghost groaned at the unmistakable voice of the self-declared Ghetto Capitalist

"What do you want?"

"I just got to tell you about this new scheme me 'n Pookie have goin' on, Ghost," the Ghetto Capitalist said, excitement evident in his voice.

Ghost sighed and prepared for the worst.

"Me 'n Pookie have started pimpin our girlfriends, Ghost, and the green just come rollin' in! We've even expanded business twice, and got some more girls."

Ghost could no longer keep quiet and cut the Ghetto Capitalist off. "Let me see if I got this right: You... You are prostituting your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, I mean, I've been sittin' on a goldmine here all this time, and I realized what a shame it'd be to let it all go waste, Ghost. I'm capitalizing, baby!" came the response.

"Are you fucking serious?!" Ghost could feel rage swelling up in him.

"Jesus fucking Christ..." Ghost was completely taken aback by what he had just heard.

"Me 'n Pookie take turns watching ma' kid, 'cuz, ya' know, someone's gotta stay n' watch him, Ghost. What kind of parent would I be if I left ma' lil' boy home alone?"

"You are the most despicable person I have ever had the misfortune of talking to!" Ghost shouted, into the mike.

"I thought you'd be proud, Ghost – I'm a self-employed entrepreneur,"

"God dammit!" Ghost yelled, knocking over several cans on his desk. "You listen to me you entitlement mooching piece of shit! You ain't doing jack shit; you make your damned dish-rag whore of a girlfriend do all the damn work! And stop chocking that kid!" Ghost's voice was hoarse from all the yelling, and he was beginning to feel a little light headed – he really needed another drink.

"But, Ghost, baby! It is hard work being a pimp," the Ghetto Capitalist objected, seemingly taking offense to Ghost's accusations. "I gotta take care of ma' girls 'n make sure no one tries stealin' her corner, ya' know?"

"You motherfucker! This is by far the worst ploy you ever have been involved with! It's bad enough when you do this shit kind of shit on your own, but now you're prostituting your woman?! God damn it!"

Ghost reached for his drink and finished it it one gulp. "GET HIM OFF!" he shouted, slamming several cans and hitting the mike as he threw a hissy fit. "he grabbed the mike and put in back on the desk while he struggled to get his breathing under control.

"That's it! I'm done! Stick a fork in me, I'm done!" Ghost coughed – his voice reduced to little more than a wheezing whisper.

He threw a quick look over at the chatroom, which only caused his anger to reach new heights:

_**NIGGERKILLER88:** LOL! !_

_**Derpy****IsBestPony:** 213 is my hero. When I grow up I wanna be just like him. Livin' lavishly in the ghetto and having bitches bring in the green! That is what life is all about, man._

_**Ghost's gay lover:** Ghost, baby, think about your blood-pressure! Don't let them get to you . xx_

_**TurdBurgler:** HAHAHAHA!1 OMG! Ghost lost it again! #canswav_

_**Sir Pooptickler, Esq.:** Yo, Ghostler! Your fruity-ass son just gave me a rimjob while your granny watched._

_**Internet Buttstalker:** I've got an early Christmas present for you baby! Come on over tonight and I'll make it a night to remember. _

_**TubGuy:** Oh my!_

_**Herman SugarCane did 9/11:** ROTFLOL! Is he coughing up blood?_

"Look at them, Engineer! They're laughing in there!" He could imagine them perfectly well, sitting in their dark, damp basement, typing away as fast as their sausage-fingers allowed them to on their cumstained keyboards.

"Implement chatroom martial law, Engineer! Implement chatroom martial law!" he began coughing rather loudly and poured himself a new drink, hoping it would cure his sore throat.

"And if ya'll think I'm giving you any twitter shout-outs you got another thing coming!" He finished the drink in one gulp, hoping it would get rid of the blood-taste in his mouth. "Get me outta here, Engineer!" he managed to shout between coughing fits.

_**Fifteen minutes later...**_

Ghost sat in his regular bar on sixth street, trying to come down from the shitty mood he was in. Outside he could see people milling about, shopping for Christmas. He brought the napkin up to his nose and dried away the last few drops of blood. Some day those callers would be the death of him.

"Hit me," he said to the bartender, gesturing for him to give him a refill.

"Hey, can I sit here?" a soft voice to his left called. Ghost turned, about to tell whomever it was to fuck off, but the words died before they left his lips as he recognized who stood next to him; Amy Daly – the transtestical pornstar. "I recognized your voice," she said, seeing the confused look on his face. "Eh... sure?" He was too taken aback to form an intelligent reply. She sat down on the free stool next to him. He found himself taken aback by her soft, feminine features, her blue eyes that held a playful glint in them. His anger faded away and was replaced with nervousness. No one made Ghost nervous, yet there he was, feeling like a shy teenager again.

"Happy holidays, Ghost," she said, placing a small gift-box on the table next to Ghost's drink. Ghost looked at the nicely wrapped package, not sure how to react. "Thanks." He finally managed to give her a reply, his voice hoarse from the yelling earlier. "You're welcome, handsome," Amy chuckled, reaching out and pinching his cheek playfully. Had he not been so taken aback by the sudden appearance of the transtestical pornstar he would have reacted, done something, said something, told her to leave him be. "I don't have anything for you," he said, only realizing how lame it sounded after he had spoken. "Don't worry about it, hon" she said, flashing him a quick, heartfelt smile.

"Anyways, I can't stay any longer. I can't keep my friends waiting," Amy spoke up, nodding towards the window. "It was nice finally meeting you though," she continued, as she slid gracefully off the bar stool. "Take care," she finished, a genuine smile on her face. Ghost watched as she walked out, the small sway of her hips as she walked, her feminine figure. Only after he saw her disappear in the crowded street outside, did he start to feel the shock wear off. He swallowed and reached for his drink, turning his attention back to his drink.


End file.
